Institute of Protection
by Captain Corgi
Summary: The Institute as it was known is gone. The Noxian shadow falls over Runeterra with promises of war and terror. Will balance be restored or will the might of Noxus rule Runeterra?
1. On Razor's Edge

**Disclaimer:** I do not in any way, shape or form own League of Legends or any of its affiliates. This piece is purely a work of fiction and intended for entertainment purposes only.

 **Author's Note:** All that aside, if you're still here please enjoy the story. :) Do note that this is, in some ways, an AU. Even though the story does take place within the same universe and on the same continent of Runeterra the setting, some events and aspects of League history have been altered to suit the story's needs.

 _After some heavy editing and soul searching, I've gone back and revamped the story. Here is the new introduction and, after a come to Jesus moment, I am pleased to present (what I feel) is a better version of the story I wish to tell._

* * *

 **"One Razor's Edge"**

 **5th August, 32 CLE**

Water dripping against bare stone echoed down the expansive corridor. Along each side, spaced haphazardly, where dungeon cells. Each individual cell contained a strange myriad of interesting beings. These individuals all wore the same outfit. A solid, one piece beige suit with dingy wraps for foot wear. Smears of dirt, grime and fecal matter stained and lined the floors of each cell. The entire place smelled heavily of sweat and urine - acidic and it stung the senses.

The air was moist from a leaking pipe somewhere in the water main. The system ran through the entire complex flowing heated water to the suits above the dungeons. Down here there was no need to fix the leak. Comfort was for the privileged. Mere gladiators - glorified slaves - did not deserve such luxuries.

The moisture created a chill through the tunnel. The cold dug into the bones, wriggling through the cracks that the meager clothing the slaves were provided with. It was a dense cold, a terrible cold. It not only made someone shiver but the feeling seeped into the soul creating a shiver that was both from desperation for warmth and the emptiness of being locked up in the darkness.

Most of the containment units held a single being. The few units that held more than one occupant were stuffed so because of the growing, over crowding problem. Too many candidates and not enough dark places to shove and contain them.

Steel toed boots clipped against the stone and dirt floor as a trio of armored guards entered the long corridor. Glancing over from cell to cell, the leader passed down the tunnel, hands held behind his ramrod straight back. A cloak fell down his back. The hood was pulled up, covering all but his lower face as the duo that was following the procession kept up with the pace. In short, clipped words the head of the marching column barked an order for the armored guards to stand at attention, guard the door as the leader opened the door into the innermost dungeon. He held it open, allowing the two finely dressed and primped men through without a word.

This formality had been performed a number of times and they all knew what to do without verbal communication. The commander closed the heavy iron door behind them. His hand reached out, palm pressed against the wall and a string of hazy but visible lights illuminated the darkness piece by piece, each light clicking on in a pre ordered sequence. Zaun technology at its finest. Though poorly maintained the lights showed how uneven and treacherous the slick stones of the floor could be.

Of the two primped men, the man on the right radiated a nervous energy, his hands wringing before his stomach but his mouth held a straight line - the hands betraying the sense of serene and calm he had been attempting to portray. The man on the left was the complete opposite. He held himself straight, his long hair pulled into a queue at the base of his neck. Both followed the commander down the tunnel, eyes forward, not glancing into the cells that lined the walls around them.

"Calm yourself Monsieur Reynault. These specimens are not getting to trounce your pretty little head any time soon," the commander said without turning around. A smirk flashed yellow teeth caught the dim lights of the poorly maintained Zaun lanterns. The light played with the shadows around the cells - giving an ominous edge to the figures tucked away into every cell.

"I have never been one for tight spaces. The darkness doesn't bother me," Monsieur Reynault responded. He felt exposed with his nerves so obvious to the commander. The walls so close and the earth pressing down on them caused a certain claustrophobia to delve into the psyche of the man.

"Famous last words from many a rich man," the third man said with a sharp intake of breath. A deep throaty chuckle escaped from plump lips as the man's soft leather boots hardly made a sound on the stone floor.

"Says the gambler. Some of us come by our means honestly Barn," Reynault retorted.

"If you say so. Last I was informed, running a brothel was just as good as stealing from a drunken man," Barn finished. He glanced across the shoulders of the commander leading them and offered a wry wink at his investment partner.

"Watch yourself." Reynault growled.

"Cease!" The commander barked, slamming the palm of his hand against the bars of the cell to their immediate right. A sinister, dark, feminine laughter came from within. Piercing purple eyes peered out from the darkness as a voice followed up.

"Men. So full of themselves." A violet tinged arm reached through the bars. No amount of bandages could hide the lithe, delicate features of the fingers as the hand produced a small, enticing gesture. "Let me out and I'll promise you a good time." The voice intoned. The purple gaze remained fixed on the three men as the commander motioned for his two companions to continue following.

"Put the woman from your mind. She can not harm you from behind these bars." The commander tapped on the next set of barriers to emphasize his point. "Your investment is up ahead. I am to assure you that you will be most impressed with this acquisition."

"I've seen this acquisition already on the bidding floor-" Reynault began with a haughty tone.

"Oh shove it. Viewing on the bidding floor and viewing person are two different things," Barn cut him off. "At least this way we can see how damaged the goods are." Reynault huffed indignantly in response.

"Not too damaged I can safely say," the commander intervened.

"We shall see." Reynault responded.

"Agreed. No matter how many times I come here, I still do not understand the Institution's fascination with torture as a form of obedience," Barn said, brushing past Reynault and the commander as the trio came to a half open door at the end of the corridor. Small beams of light darted from behind the door, the dancing tones indicating candles and not the ancient Zaun technology.

"The last Champion we purchased stake in survived one fight and was dead from your training methods the next day," Reynault continued. "It was a horrid investment that we never saw a return on."

"Monsieur Reynault. Monsieur Barn. I can assure you that our methods have improved from the crudeness of the early days." The commander pushed open the door the rest of way, moving aside so the two men could enter the room first.

"I'll be the judge of that." Reynault finished gruffly, pushing past and entering the room. Barn followed after and both men looked around at the numerous "training" tools stacked on racks, bunched on tables or leaning against the walls. The room was square, the floor covered in grime - a combination of dirt, grime and blood - and there was a purely acidic smell that no amount of candles could burn away.

The acquisition in question was mute, staring from under grime coated tendrils of hair. One eye was black, bruised and bleeding from a large gash across the upper part of the cheek. A rough, home spun piece of cloth was wrapped around the mouth, shoved firmly between the acquisition's teeth to keep the silence. Objects didn't speak. Trade goods had no voice. They went to the highest bidder and did as they were told without complaint. The acquisition's wrists were bound in chaffing irons, held out to the side above their head. The chains were in an awkward angle that made each breath a struggle and forced the fighter to raise themselves every time they wished to break through a broken nose. No shirt covered their chest. The whiplash marks and burns from being subject to inhuman treatment still fresh and laced across old or reopening scar tissue. Torn cloth pants hung from around a surprisingly muscled, tone waist with a frayed rope belt. Bare feet and hands seemed the only piece of the body not terribly mistreated. This was a fighter after all. Breaking what would and could be used as weapons only diminished the value of the potential to investors.

"Scrawny but you said he is a fighter?" Barn quipped, stepping forward to raise the investment's chin, turning their head to each side. Barn reached up and, with two fingers, pressed on the gash. The man on the wall winced, good eye narrowing slightly.

"Yes Monsieur Barn." The commander responded. He stood to the side, allowing for the two men to have all the time they wanted to gaze over the fighter that they had spent hundreds of thousands of gold on. "We have tried him in the arena against lesser combatants and while he took some… encouragement to fight, he does with an absolute fierceness."

"It is entertainment you're investing in Barn, not welfare," Reynault chuckled from where he stood. "Who has he been pitched against? Can we see the training results?" The commander produced a sheet of parchment from a small locked bin on the table nearest them. He handed it to Reynault and the man glanced over it. "The samurai and the arrow? That is who he has fought?" Reynault asked with a scoff. "That hardly offers assurance of his time in the arena."

"You forget that the samurai placed second last year." Barn was quick to remind him. Barn had released his hold on the acquisition's chin and had begun to probing at the ribs and arms, feeling for confirmation or muscle defects.

"By a fluke. The prince taking his own life threw the whole season into disorder. It ruined the rankings," Reynault cut Barn off.

"Semantics." Barn waved his hand in the air, leaning back on his heels and forced open the investment's hands, looking over the callouses on their hands. "Well he is a fighter. He has the hands to prove it."

"According to this he is an assassin," Reynault handed over the paperwork to Barn who looked it over quickly before returning the papers.

"Even better! Maybe we will have a chance this year!" Barn exclaimed with a clap of his hands.

"Perhaps." Reynault turned to the commander. "Thank you for showing us our investment." Reynault turned, the paperwork in his left hand and moved towards the exit.

"One moment Reynault!" Barn said. "Commander, before we leaving I have a last question. Does this fighter have a name? The paperwork just says assassin and we very well can't keep calling him that." Barn chuckled before it died in his throat at the commander's unmoving gaze. He cleared his throat nervously.

"Talon. The man is known as Talon." He responded.

"Talon? Interesting name." Reynault said from already across the room, standing before the door. "I'm intrigued now. Would this be the same Talon that was notorious havoc in the slums of Noxus?"

"The very same." The commander said.

"Well well well!" Barn grinned, turning back to the man on the wall and happily slapping the chained man's cheek with a grin. "Aren't we the luckiest men alive! I think we finally have a real fighter!"

"Of course." Reynault also smiled, sharing his comrades enthusiasm at the news.

"Gentlemen. If you please. It is getting late. I am required to meet with the Grand General after escorting you back to your housing," the commander said. "If you please." He motioned for them to leave and the two men, with some reluctance, started towards the exit. "Orianna will see you out to the practice arenas. I will have your fighter prepared for a brief practice bought before you leave."

"Thank you. We await it," Reynault said, moving to leave the room with Barn in tow. The commander turned, releasing the chains around the fighter's wrists. The broken body fell forward without the support to it aloft any longer. The single golden eye stared daggers at the two men that had 'bought' him. Reynault shivered once more but this time not from the cold in the corridor.

* * *

 **Please leave a comment, rate and review. :)**

 **Captain Corgi Out!  
**


	2. Lady Luck is Smilin'

**Disclaimer:** I do not in any way, shape or form own League of Legends or any of its affiliates. This piece is purely a work of fiction and intended for entertainment purposes only.

 **Author's Note:** All that aside, if you're still here please enjoy the story. :) Do note that this is, in some ways, an AU. Even though the story does take place within the same universe and on the same continent of Runeterra the setting, some events and aspects of League history have been altered to suit the story's needs.

 _Real life has kept me from updating but here is the next chapter! :D  
_

* * *

 **"Lady Luck is Smilin'"**

 **5th June, 30 CLE**

Talon looked over his hand one more time then at the other three players. Poker was the universal game in the League. Outside of matches, entertainment could be found in the lounge area with any odd number of Institute regulars contending against each other off the battlefield. Seated with him were two others - one he played with regularly and the other, frankly had no idea how to play the game.

"Full House!" Fate grinned, laying out his hand and reaching for the chips in the middle. A pair of meeps dashed across the table, crashing through the pile of chips and running back to their master with Fate's cards in their spectral hands. "Hey hey! That ain't how you play the game. I explained this!"

Bard let out a low whistle. The noise sounded a mix of disappointment and frustration. The being called his meeps over, removed the cards and handed them back to Fate with a soft whine. Talon just chuckled, laying down his own hand before grabbing the chips.

"Four of a kind. I beat you anyway Fate." Again, meeps ran across the table and scooped up the cards. "The first time it was funny. It isn't anymore." The assassin reprimanded, his hands darting out to quickly scoop up the offending meep and remove the cards from its grasp. He held out the meep and looked at Bard.

"I taught you how to play. Play right or don't play at all." Fate responded. The two men looked at the strange creature and Bard just tilted its head, showing its own hand. Fate leaned back with an appreciative whistle. "I'll be swindled. Royal Flush. Looks like old Bard here was holding out on us!" He reached over, slapping the creature across its broad back and receiving a sharp whistle in return. "You are a quick learner!"

"Beginner's luck," Talon mumbled under his breath, watching as the meeps scrambled to gather up the chips and create a rather impressive pile in front of the caretaker. "Deal them again Fate."

Other than the three the lounge was empty. It was the middle of the night. League matches were closed for the time being. Fate and Talon had originally intended to play against their usual opponents of Quinn and Riven but the ladies had not shown up so they had made due with Bard. Rather Fate had wrangled the mysterious creature to the table with fancy words and charm, flourished him and gave Bard a crash course in Poker. Talon had watched the whole thing, laughing at the frustration Fate was hiding when Bard did not pick up the game immediately. Now both Fate and Talon watched as Bard, hand after hand, took their money.

"You're an awful loser," Fate chuckled, taking his seat back and shuffling the deck. The card sharp threw the cards in front of his face, flinging them from one hand to the other with the flair he was known for.

"You done?" Talon said, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. The former Noxian assassin had thrown his traditional hood off his head and the long, brown hair was tied back into a queue at the base of his neck.

"Never." Fate replied with a wry grin, dealing the newest hand. Bard made some weird hollow sound and the meeps scampered up, one on each shoulder peering down at the creature's cards.

"Shoo!" Talon snapped, pushing away the third meep as it crept forward, trying to climb on the assassin's arm.

"So harsh. They're kind of adorable little… whatever they are." Fate responded, rearranging his cards. "Any bids?"

"I'm in for 50." Talon deadpanned. The assassin eyed the third meep as it watched him back, it's huge, soulless sockets bordering on haunting. Talon shook his head, dismissing the image and focusing back on his hand. Bard was a new addition and, despite any reservation he had, teaching the other worldly being how to play the common card game was amusing. Factor in the fact that Fate - usually suave and unwavering - was becoming more and more ruffled as the game dragged on. Talon could say with certainty that that alone was worth the small inconvenience of the strange meeps running around like unruly children.

"Same." Fate said.

Bard whistled and the meep on his right shoulder haphazardly dropped two 50 chips into the middle of the table.

"Big spender." Talon remarked and tossed in another 50. He chuckled as the smirk on Fate's face turned into a grimace. Fate was good at cards but the man had some tells and after a few years of playing against him Talon could figure out his card "buddy's" hands easy enough. Most of the time. Maybe half of the time if the assassin didn't lie to himself.

"Maybe I taught him too well," Fate chuckled, folding his hand. "I'm done this hand. You two can battle it out."

Bard responded with another 50 raising the pot. Talon raised a brow and Fate whistled from where he was perched, the card shark's feet casually resting on the table, crossed at the ankle.

"I am starting to think that our new buddy here knows more about cards than he lets on," Talon half teased, half mocked. He placed in a chip for 100 and looked at Bard expectantly.

"Well then he played me for the fool!" Fate laughed, shifting the position of his hat to have it sit on the back half of his head. "You too it looks like." While the words were said in humor, the assassin could tell that just under the surface Fate was getting annoyed, perhaps even frustrated. Cards where his game and a game he hardly every lost without intending to. Having Bard show him up like this was ruffling more than a few of Fate's feathers. Talon was doing all he could to hide the smirk he felt tugging on the edge of his lips at the idea of Fate actually losing his trade mark collected manners.

"Maybe…" Talon drew out the syllables as a kind of taunt.

Bard whistled, placing down its hand as a call and the meeps already dashing across the table to scoop up the chips. Talon tossed down his own hand. The creature had beaten him again.

"Alright. One more hand!" The assassin said starting feel his own frustration. "Fate you better hope you're not stacking the deck - for your sake." The threat was rather empty but it was there. "We lose again you're buying the drinks."

"I'll take that bet!" Fate tossed his head forward, the momentum bringing the brim of his hat down to cover his eyes as his hands expertly began to shuffle the cards in a flourish of motion. "No one can be that lucky!" The card shark laughed at his own joke, dealing out the cards.

"Look in a mirror," Talon mumbled under his breath, noting the sharp glance Fate gave him. The assassin chuckled at the reaction.

"Name of the game is five card stud. Let's see what you got boys." Fate finished dealing the hands.

"My favorite duo! Where are the lovely ladies?" The voice boomed from behind Talon's back but the baritone was unmistakable. Gragas' distinct, meaty hands slapping down hard on both the assassin and the card shark's backs. Fate had to grab his hand before it went flopping off his head. Talon rolled his eyes, noting the slight red tinge to Gragas' nose.

"You're drunk." The assassin snorted, holding back a cough as the impact of the Gragas' hand against his back elicited a sudden influx of air into his system.

"You're more sour than a lemon! What else is new?" Gragas returned, dragging a chair from another table and pushing his big belly in between Fate and Bard.

"Join us! Why not!" Fate said with a wave, his chair shuffling abruptly out of the way.

"I think I will." The fat man guffawed, tossing back his head. He looked at Fate for a minute. "Well… Deal me in card shark! You boys beat me this time and I'll get the round this time!" Gragas snatched up the cards that Fate dealt. "So new guy huh? How did Fate drag you into these shenanigans?"

"We needed a third player. Bard here was kind enough to volunteer." Fate responded.

"You all but threatened him." Talon muttered with a dark smirk. He had to admit that watching Fate - usually calm and collected even cocky - growing flustered at the constant interruptions was amusing.

"With a good time! Don't make me the bad guy now Mr. Assassin," Fate retorted with a sneered that both parts humor and irony.

"Tell me again how you came to own all those fancy clothes?" Talon just scoffed, folding his cards and looking up at the card shark.

"Now lads! Let's all just have fun! Stop with these sour faces or I'll force Brandy down those throats and give you a reason to be sour." Gragas interrupted, his heavy hand slamming onto the table with enough force to shift the chips on the table - a small tower of Bard's collection fell onto the floor. Two meeps dashed off the table, gathered up the fallen chips and arranged them back into a rather impressive tower. "Looks like the new guy is taking you both for everything. I think I like him even more!" Gragas smirked, looking through his cards before putting in his bid.

"Your call." Fate said motioning to Bard.

Bard tilted its head, whistling long and low as a meep dashed over, scampering up and sitting on Gragas' left shoulder. The fat man only laughed, patting the strange creature on the top of its head. Gragas next eyed the rather large pile of chips stacked before Bard whereas before the two regulars - it looked like Twitch had come through and taken everything but the sink. The strange creature revealed its hand. Talon visibly melted, tossing down his hand in annoyance and leaning back in his chair with arms crossed. Fate sighed, shook his head and just held back a growl. Gragas let out a loud roar of obnoxious laughter, his belly jiggling the table. Talon shuffled his chair further away, clearing his throat in annoyance. Still, the usually jolly man was a regular in the lounge and would often watch Talon, Fate and the two woman play poker. Gragas was also known for offering unwanted "assistance" and Fate was equally known for encouraging the behavior.

"Deal them again fancy man." Gragas commanded, his hand slamming against the table and pushing himself up. "But first drinks. Playing hard means drinking hard my lads." The large bellied man moved towards the far end of the lounge area towards the bar that he normally manned.

"For such a robust man he does a fair job disappearing behind that bar," Talon noted, glancing over, his arms now resting easily on the arms of the lush lounge chair.

"He learned that from the best," Fate offhandedly replied, glancing over at the bar. "You hang around with enough of us 'scrum and villainy' you're bound to pick up a trick or two."

The two sat in silence as Gragas made a fair showing of pouring three ambitious drinks in three enormous mugs with foam flowing over the tops. The sight was comical. Gragas edged back into his chair, kicking the legs out before the literal plop of his generous girth bumped the table. The drinks slammed onto the table, his meaty hands pushing them to each of the players with a large grin.

"Well lads drink up! Let's make this a night to remember!" His jovial nature was infectious and Talon found himself smirking. Fate just laughed, tossing back his head and the mug with a generous gulp. "That's the spirit Fate! Maybe if we get you drunk enough we won't all lose our money to you tonight!"

"Come now! I'm not that bad at this game. Give a man some credit." Fate replied with a smarmy grin.

"You're too good is the problem," Talon responded, his hand already shuffling the decks together. That was the one rule of their games. Fate, though he made a show of it, was not allowed to shuffle and deal the cards after even one drink. There had been too many games involving missing cards or one too many aces in the deck that it was agreed upon to just not let Fate touch the cards after drinking.

Two hours and far too many drinks later…

"I'm done." Fate threw down his last hand - it was four of a kind but it couldn't beat the Royal Flush Bard had - again. "That is some damn beginner's luck if I ever saw it. Good job big guy." Fate pushed out from the table, stretching his back and scratching at the back of his head. He wobbled slightly, the alcohol providing a sudden rush to his head.

"Ah ha! Lady Luck has found a new suitor!" Gragas chortled, his belly jiggling with the full throated sound. "Ain't that right big boy!" A meaty hand slapped down against Bard's back and the creature let out a long, low plaintive whine as the meeps scrambled to scoop up the last of the chips. Bard had a castle of poker pieces before its imposing form. Talon let out a grunt from where he half laid, half leaned against the table, a partially downed mug had his fingers limply wrapped around it. "You boys look like you could use a walk to quarters." Gragas was not short for energy.

"So big. So loud," Talon groaned, his free hand coming up and wiping at his face, trying to clear away the fog alcohol had created. Bard crooned, standing up and collecting the chips in its arms. A meep ran down, plopping down before the assassin. "Go away. I don't have the patience to deal with you." Talon slapped at the meep, missing it by inches. The assassin groaned again, the hand that had missed swung side coming to rest on Talon's head, shoving his hood back off his head. Long tendrils of dark hair fell loose forward across his face, half hiding closed eyes. "My head…"

"Graces my friend, it has not even been a few hours, it is too soon for a hangover!" Fate said, turning to look at the assassin sprawled on the table. Bard was moving out of the room towards the exit, meeps in tow and carrying all the poker chips.

"Shouldn't you stop it? Get your chips back?" Talon snorted, one eye peering out from under his hair and looking at the mistral's backside.

"Nah," Fate drawled, waving a hand out to catch himself on the table. "He can keep them. Seems like a fitting prize for the his first poker night."

"Makes sense… Sentimental," Talon chuckled, flopping his head back down and burying it in his arms.

"Here boys! Sober you right up!" Gragas grinned, producing two fresh mugs with the strangest of concoctions. Talon glanced up at the new drink, sniffed it and felt his stomach instantly revolt. A second later, he was doubled over dry heaving and pushing the concoction away. Fate held the mug in both hands, looking from it to the Gragas and back again with a small, unsure grin. After seeing how the assassin had reacted, the card shark gulped and downed the concoction as quickly as possible. "That's it my boy! You'll feel ready to go for another round in a few minutes!" His rosy cheeks brightened even more. His meaty hands shoved the untouched mug back to within Talon's reach. "Your friend did it, you can to."

"It only burns for a minu-" Fate's hand shot to his mouth and he darted behind the bar. The sound of the strange liquid mixture he had just consumed exiting and splashing all across the floor.

"Ah now! I ain't cleaning that up boy! Mop and bucket are on the other side of the bar." Gragas groaned.

Fate popped up from behind the bar, arms flat out across the surface and his face was more green than any other color. Talon chuckled before his stomach made it impossible to try again at being snarky.

The sound of retribution came from the entryway to the lounge area. Talon lifted his head and his eyes widen - the hood that normally covered his face had fallen back and the shock in his expression was not so easily hidden. From behind the bar, Gragas was in the process of holding Fate up and shoving the mop into the card shark's reluctant hands. There were some mumbled curses coming from the well dressed, otherwise proper man as he went about doing a "janitor's" job.

"I would say have a good morn but it seems you have already been enjoying the sunrise," the Noxian General said from the entryway, looking from one drunkard to the other then back. "Talon, when you have time, please see me about an important matter. In the meantime, get yourself cleaned up." Swain snuffed his nose, turning on heel to exit the area. The assassin only groaned louder, both hands coming up to hold down his head and ruffle through disheveled hair.

"Someone is in trouble," Fate chimed from the bar. The card shark was leaning heavy on the mop, half-heartedly pushing it around to clean up the mess. Gragas just shook his giant beard and pushed the lithe man out of the way, finishing the floor with a few quick strokes. The large man pushed the card shark towards the assassin and grumbled at them both to leave, go back to their respective rooms.

"We room together…" Talon stumbled to his feet, one hand on his head and pulling the hood back into place.

"Not like that." Fate blurted out. It was common knowledge that with the new champions constantly inflowing into the League that the meager rooms that had once been just enough where overflowing. Some of the new champions needed "special" accommodations and, with that, older members where being forced to share spaces. Talon had not been keen on the idea at first but, because of their relationship through the weekly card games, sharing a room with Fate was not as bad a choice as it could have been. The card respected his privacy and the assassin did the same in return.

The two leaned on each other, one stumbling and pulling the other in a direction as they meandered down the hallway to the room.

"We might skip next week." Fate chuckled, shifting Talon's arm around his shoulders.

"I might still be hungover," Talon groaned.

"We'll sober you up before your meeting," Fate responded.

"No. Just leave me lying." The assassin stumbled, pulling them both down to their knees and the card shark cursed.

"Let's just focus on getting to the room-" Fate stopped himself, dry heavying when the world suddenly spun to the left. He took a moment before finishing. "In one piece alright?" He grinned and Talon answered with a shake of his head, instantly regretting it as what was left in his stomach splashed to the floor.

"I ain't cleaning that one up either boys!" Gragas shouted down the hallway.

* * *

Please leave a comment, rate and review. :)

If you have any questions about setting, how the chapters are organized, or anything else please feel free to contact me via a review or through messaging on the website.

Captain Corgi Out! :)


	3. Just Like Hunting Thresher Geese

**Disclaimer:** I do not in any way, shape or form own League of Legends or any of its affiliates. This piece is purely a work of fiction and intended for entertainment purposes only.

 **Author's Note:** All that aside, if you're still here please enjoy the story. :) Do note that this is, in some ways, an AU. Even though the story does take place within the same universe and on the same continent of Runeterra the setting, some events and aspects of League history have been altered to suit the story's needs.

 _Wanted to include a special thanks to user sristy07 for taking time to leave a review! First one for the rebooted story!_

* * *

 **"Just Like Hunting Thresher Geese"**

 **6th June, 30 CLE - Early Morning**

It may have been early morning but the atmosphere of the Institute felt thick and heavy. That could have also just been the weight of her familiar companion nestled against her chest. The weight was comforting. A snort of sorts escaped from the bird of prey as Valor shifted, shaking his head before moving into a perched position, hopping onto the headboard of the bed. What had woken the bird earlier than normal Quinn could not place at first. Then an obnoxious voice echoed from outside her door. It was a male voice and one that was too recognizable.

"Damn drunkards," Quinn groaned, swinging her legs over the edge of her bed and giving Valor's head a gentle pat. "I'll handle this. Don't worry your precious feathers." The Demacian Scout smirked, grabbing her cloak and wrapping it around her figure. It was not proper clothes but it would do to hide the bed clothes she was currently wearing.

A moment later she kicked open her door, catching the two loud mouths in the hallway by surprise as they stumbled along. Talon slipped forward and Fate barely managed to catch him before the assassin fell face first across stone floor.

"If you're done waking the dead…" Quinn started, her voice harsh and sleep deprived before she saw the state of the two men.

"Scout - " Talon began with a certain harshness in his slurred voice only to be cut off by a raised hand from Quinn.

"Stop. Just let me guess. Gragas got involved in Poker Night?" She chuckled.

"You would be correct in that assumption my dear," Fate shifted the weight of the assassin leaning against his shoulder.

"More like he shoved his way into the game," Talon grumbled from where he half hung, half stumbled. With a grunt the assassin forced away the card shark's hand and stood on his own two feet albeit it was unsteady. One hand shot out and the Noxian groaned under his breath at the sudden onslaught of vertigo, his head pounding. There had to have been more than just beer in that mug. Talon was a known connoisseur of alcohol in the League. This reaction to whatever it was that Gragas had served them was abnormal. "What was in that drink?" He rubbed his head, pushing his hood down off his head.

"What did it taste like?" Quinn asked as Fate just watched the assassin stumble forward, releasing the other man's arm.

"It was smooth. It had a kind of…" Fate waved his hand, trying to find the right words.

"It tasted of liquor. Heavy liquor." Talon snapped, turning, pressing his back against the hallway. His right hand splayed out, grabbing at the frame to the closed door beside him.

"Oh my. Well Gragas managed to get you boy's good then," the scout snickered. Her arms unconsciously pulled the cloak around her body closer as she shifted from one hip to the other. "He calls that the Hangman's Blood**. Nasty business that drink. I am surprised you boys are still standing after having one."

"We had more than one my dear," Fate responded dryly. Quinn just whistled, shaking her head.

"How many?" She asked.

"Four for me. Three for Mr. Fancy Pants," Talon quipped, jerking his thumb in Fate's direction.

"I am not sure how're you still standing Mr. Assassin. That steely Noxian fortitude must be good for more than just the battlefield," Quinn teased, jeering her teeth and smirking.

"Are you done jabbing?" Talon growled.

"Stop. My head hurts too much to deal with this stupidity," Fate interjected, having his hands out with a finger pointed at each verbal combatant purposefully. The card shark was silently trying to ensure that the two understood he was in no mood to handle their bickering.

"Fine." Quinn harrumphed, uncrossed her arms and beckoned the men to wait a moment. "I have a cure for what ails you." She smirked and disappeared back into her room, half closing the door behind her. Valor was seated on his perch in the corner of the room, preening his feathers. He stared up at the Demacian scout when she snickered, opening the miniature fridge in the kitchenette. She pulled out half a dozen different bottles before pouring their contents in measured portions into two glasses. Grabbing the glasses after exchanging her cloak for a proper robe, Quinn hooked her foot to the bottom of the door and opened it, handing out the drinks to the two stumbling champions. "Here. Try this. It will taste awful but it will help."

"What is in it?" Talon held the glass to his nose and almost immediately felt his stomach revolt, one hand dashing to his mouth to stop from heaving.

"Oh, you might want to hold your nose and just chug. It's for the better." Quinn responded, not holding back her laughter at the face Fate was making as the card shark gulped down the drink. When he was done, one gloved hand shoved the glass back at the scout, Fate's visage starting to turn green with restrained nausea. "About the ingredients, boys, you might be better off not knowing."

"I'll drink to that," Talon gasped, hoisting his glass and throwing the contents back. Once it hit his throat, the assassin was forced to hold back a Poker Night that wanted to revisit him.

"I thank you for your help but we should be going. We were, as you said, waking the dead after all," Fate reached over, grabbing Talon's now empty glass and handing it back to Quinn with a flourish and a wink. Though the card shark still felt the combined effects of Gragas' nasty concoctions and then the scout's cure, he also understood that rest would be the best method to managing the ailment that the two Poker partners felt. "Besides, do you not have a meeting you need to sober up for?" Fate none to gentle in reminding Talon. The assassin's eyes widened from behind his head, his back turned to the other two and his inner voice cursing at having forgotten about the promise to his superior. He was going to face hell for showing up even the tiniest bit hungover.

"Yes. Thank you." Talon bit out. The assassin pushed off the wall, stumbling a bit before starting down the hallway. The men's (or what constituted male in the Institute) quarters was past the women's. Technically they could have gotten there by going through the practice rings and then around the private Summoners' chambers but that meant the potential of dealing with other Institute resident's out sparing or training in the early hours. Talon and Fate knew that their reputation as heavy drinkers and even heavier gamblers was no secret but it would be better to save face and go through the women's quarters. At least they had thought they ran less of a risk of running into anyone in the Institute who could use their disheveled appearance and demeanor as a taunt against the duo at a later date. As Fate was fond of saying, Lady Luck had not smiled on them in the wee hours of the morning.

"A Noxian being nice. That's a new one," Quinn scoffed, waved her hand and returned to her room, closing the door before Talon could produce some off handed, angry retort. She gave Fate a small wink as a consolation.

"That woman is interesting," the card shark muttered, staring at the closed door for a moment longer. "Other than the obvious blood rivalry, I would venture a guess and say you've had your run ins before this."

"That is something you could say," Talon responded, moving down the hallway. The men's quarters were down the hallway and through an impressive archway up ahead. There was a sort of mezzanine that separated the two housing units. The area was a vast space with multiple time wasting activities but was empty, oddly so, this early. "I won't answer any stupid questions."

"I had not planned on asking any." Fate came alongside the assassin, his gloves hands strung together behind his back. The card shark's gait had become purposeful and easy, keeping up but not outpacing his still recovering poker buddy. "Still, being of a curious mind, I do wonder."

"Well stop. As you said, it is nothing outside of a blood rivalry. Noxians and Demacians don't get along." Talon snorted. "Never have. Never will. She is just another air headed, do as your told subordinate to the selfish prick who calls himself Prince."

"Doesn't sound as such is the case. At least, not by that tone of voice."

"And what tone would that be exactly?" Talon snapped. While he was slightly shorter than the lanky card shark, the notorious daggers he carried with him still reached and Fate found one pressed against him, the blade resting just under his jawline. "This one? Because this is the tone of a cornered animal and you know what cornered animals do fancy pants?"

"Very. Have you met Malcom?" Fate smirked, hand coming up and pushing the weapon away. "Stop posturing. I was only asking."

There was no response from the assassin. Talon turned on his heel, setting a more brisk pace and moved through the mezzanine with a hostile pace. The usual silence of his soft souled boots was gone - each foot step was purposefully and reverberated through the hollow air. Fate shook his head, clicking his tongue and following at a small distance. His hands where held easily at his side, his right absent mindedly flicking a trade mark gaming card across his fingers in a delicate dance.

 _Back in the women's quarters…_

"Valor. Noxians are a strange bunch." The scout said to her constant companion, petting the feathered head with the palm of her hand. It was still rather early but as she was already about, Quinn knew going back to bed was not an option. Instead, the scout chose to put on her training gear and head to the sparring grounds just outside of the Institute. The rare bird fluffed his feathers, preening before flapping and alighting on the footboard of the Institute standard bed. Quinn finished pulling on her gear, strapping her arm guards into place and whistling for Valor to perch himself on top of her left arm. The two headed out then, her crossbow strapped to her back, and she locked the door behind her, shoving the key into the pouch around Valor's neck.

"What could we work on today," the scout asked no one. Her only response was a head tilt from the raptor on her arm and a small fluff of his wings. "You're right. Geese hunting it is. We haven't had a fresh caught meal in a good time." She patted the bird, noting how Valor seemed to shake his head in annoyance and she just chuckled. Weaving through the Institute, past the amphitheater for League contests, she passed through the large arch that heralded the grand entrance to the place, coming out into a still dark cavern. The Institute itself was sequestered in a large network of caves. Something about the way the magic flowed here that allowed for death to hold no real effect on the combatants during League games. Quinn did not question it, knowing that of late her calls to the fields were few and far between. That suited her fine, allowing for times such as this - hunting and working on the essentials.

The duo exited the cavern, the enormous mouth of the system looming above their heads and into the breaking sunlight. Quinn winced for a moment, her eyes adjusting before she raised her arm, thrusting Valor into the air with a powerful flap of his wings. The brightness was harsh even this early as the sun began to peek over the horizon.

"Atta boy. Valor, seek." She barked, breaking into a dash across the plains that spread out before them. With little room for their prey to hid, finding the geese in question would not be so easy a taste. "I miss this. He would have loved hunting out here." Beautiful weather, carefree air to the world, following her faithful companion in the thrill of the hunt still she yearned to bring him back. Her better half. Valor was a pitiful replacement truth be told. While she adored the bird as much as a brother Valor was still a bird, still an animal and could not replace that which she had lost. Quinn blinked, banishing the thoughts and noticed she had lost sight of her companion in question. Her feet had been moving unconsciously, soaring in their own right across the soft hills and ignoring the sharp bite of the morning chill.

Valor called from overheard, swooping down and landing on her outstretched arm. Quinn squinted her eyes. Something was edging over the horizon. She spared her constant companion a look, thrusting his feathered body into the air.

"Valor. Scout." Quinn ordered, standing on her toes, hand held to shield her eyes from the burgeoning sunrise. "This can't bode well. Were the reports correct? I wonder." She withdrew her hand, placing it against the crossbow strapped to her back before taking off at a brisk pace, rushing down the slope.

 _In the Library a few hours later…_

"That concoction worked wonders for your sobriety," Fate jabbed, standing at the entrance to the Institute's Library. Talon stood next to him, silent, the assassin's hands tucked underneath of his ever present cloak. "Enjoy your meeting. I have a few ladies to attend in the meantime. Find me when you want to spar." Fate turned on his heel, hand waving over his head and disappearing down the hallway towards the lounge area.

Talon watched Fate disappear, pushing through the doorway to the massive section of the Institute. He pulled the hood of his trademark cloak tight around his face, fingers dancing over a dagger strapped against his upper thigh, hidden beneath the folds of the uniquely bladed mantle. There was common knowledge around the Institute that, when not preoccupied with the dealings of Noxian Diplomacy, the elder general could be found brooding in the catacombs of the Institute's Library. Swain was often in the company of his black bird Beatrice. That creature was a strange one. Talon cared little for it and even less for the fact that the avian seemed to dislike the assassin more so. They had clashed before, the bird clawing to gouge out the younger man's eyes unprovoked. Swain had seemed uninterested in stopping the attacks, labeling them as mere whims from his bird companion. Beatrice had a mind all her own and Swain held no sway over her lusts.

"Stupid bird," Talon shifted, fingers tightening around his hidden dagger as he rounded a corner - his instincts on edge, feeling the presence of another nearby. The constriction of the air alerted the assassin before the silhouette of the elder general took shape. "Grand General." Talon spoke up, removing himself from the shadows and standing at strict attention before the imposing figure. A trio of familiar and hostile eyes blinked, glaring into the cloaked assassin's own. They blinked individually. The motion was eerie and unnerving. "You had wished to speak with me."

"Indeed. As a rule, when I ask for the presence of a fellow Noxian, especially one within my ranks, I find it an admiral trait that they show up at an acceptable time." Swain was hunched over a mahogany study table, maps spread out across the surface, their edges hanging in a haphazard manner. The coat the covered his body enveloped the lithe, broken body underneath of it. Beatrice ruffled her feathers, shaking her head and training those three eyes onto the charts set out before the general. "Not at a time the conveniences them."

"Yes, Grand General," Talon responded. The assassin was no trained soldier so while he did not salute, his voice carried the clipped tone of a well-trained cannon fodder that had. "Apologies." His hand still held tight to the handle of the dagger strapped to his side, sights flicking between the demon bird and the elder.

"No need." The silent command to not let the actions Swain had chided him for happen again went without mention. Swain waved a hand, pushing Beatrice from his shoulder and righting himself, left hand gripping the handle of an ornate cane resting against the table. "As a master of the underground, I seek your opinion on how best to infiltrate a fortress from beneath. Someone raised in your circumstances would know how best to accomplish this feat."

"The rat might be more suited to this," while it was not instant regret, the assassin found himself wishing to have put a bit more thought into the sentence before blabbering it out. If birds could snicker, Talon swore he saw Beatrice raise a wing and hide the noise behind it.

"The rat is not here." Swain responded, staring down at the assassin. Despite being crippled, the general was arguably one of, if not the most, intimidating man in the Institute. Never mind that all denizens of the Institute knew of Swain's limp and his crippled leg, they also gave the man a wide berth with good reason. "Instead I asked for the ferret because I am not looking to run away but hunt something down. Now, if you please, show me how you would accomplish the task I have set before you." Swain shifted, leaning weight onto his cane and drew his other hand across the multitude of maps.

Talon approached, hands coming up to cross over his chest as he examined the papers set before him. The corridors and underground tunnels where immaculately placed. All passages within the blueprint had been laid out on a perfect grid.

"This is not Demacia. There is too much order to this layout. Ionia perhaps? What is this a map of?" Talon inquired, eyes scanning over the well planned labyrinth.

"A familiar institute." Swain answered. "Answer the dilemma."

The assassin held a wary eye on the aged Grand General, that voice inside insisting that there was a keen detail he was missing. What it may have been Talon was sure he did not know but the slight edge to Swain's clipped response and the echoing reaction of the slight raise to the hairs on Talon's arms had the assassin on his toes. Still, like any well trained soldier, he began his response in a short, to the point manner.

"Assuming these are aqueducts or sewers out of this location and assuming the prey does not know of your intentions, that would be the quickest way in."

"They are mining tracks." Swain supplied, leaning on his cane closer to view where Talon had been pointing.

"Heavily guarded?"

"Mechanically."

"Then depending on intel and mechanical knowledge, you would want to ascertain how reliable these mechanical sentries are. Could they be easily outmaneuvered or would they require some suggestive hard wiring to turn a blind eye?" Talon questioned.

"If we did not have access to such knowledge?" Swain did not look up from the map and the assassin felt a short shiver curl down his spine, slow and meaningful. He did not ignore it completely but neither did he act upon it. His instincts told him there was not enough information to be acting rashly.

"Obtain it. Ask an informant." Talon's response was clipped and while Swain himself did nothing about the tone, Beatrice cawed from her perch on the Grand General's opposite shoulder. Her feathers ruffled, obvious displeasure but the older man raised his free hand, reaching across to sooth the avian with a slight flick to the underside of her beak.

"Calm yourself Beatrice. He has the right to be direct. It is what I expect from him." Swain chided the bird, turning his attention back to the assassin. "Please continue."

Talon did not immediately start again. He shifted uncomfortably from one heel to the other, changing his weight to the dominate foot. All the sirens in his brain said to ask more questions, seeking more answers. He ignored them. This was the Noxian Grand General and throughout their time at this Institute Swain had shared both knowledge and training with his fellows. Talon would be hard fought to fight against such general offerings, tossing them to the wayside considering current misgivings. He had since released the hand on his familiar weapon yet now his hand strayed back to the dagger, right hand - the one hidden between his body and the Grand General - touched across the comfort of the worn leather hilt. It was a silent reassurance to calm the raging nerves bundling up inside.

"Silence is not the answer. Relax assassin. This is a mere conversation. There is no need to arm yourself." Swain raised a brow in silent inquiry searching for defiance.

"Apologies, Grand General. The effects of the night's activities have my nerves on edge." Talon offered as a tentative response. He removed his hand from the dagger, placing both within easy sight, palms flat on the table.

"There is no time for an informant." Swain placed a hand on Talon's shoulder, the other hand still grasping the cane. Beatrice was silent. The Grand General's silence was enough to inform the assassin he should continue.

"Then why intrude? If you do not have the layout, at the least, the idea of invading is a fool hardy and blind one at best." Talon responded, his eyes forward, staring at the maps and studying them further. The longer he scanned, the more familiar the pieces of paper seemed to appear.

"There is enough information available to understand that the sentries can be ignored."

"Ignored? Without knowing how the sentries operate or if they can be tuned to turn away, how can they be ignored? Is the rat sharing cloaking technology? Or perhaps the cricket?" Talon chuckled at his own taunt knowing that such tactics as stealth seemed limited amongst those within the Institute itself and the few that knew how to harness it (himself included) were not going to share that information on a free basis. This conversation was becoming uneasy and Talon could no longer ignore the strange inkling at the back of his neck that there was a wrongness to what the General was asking of him.

"Enough of the sentries. They are handled in this situation." Swain waved a hand as if to end the line of thought. The appendage returned to the Grand General's side and he continued before Talon could interrupt. "These mining tracks. Would they be the only way in perhaps?"

"No. They would perhaps be the best but if there is another that could be utilized to the same effectiveness I would split. I am assuming that in this situation there is more than just a single person wanting to infiltrate." Talon answered, biting back his own growing apprehensions. His hands itched to return to his dagger. He listened to those instincts. It is what kept him alive all the time in the Noxian underground. The handful of times the assassin had not had ended in undesirable consequences but this was the Grand General.

"Thousands," Swain responded. The older man offered no other inquiries, his hand coming to rest underneath of his chin in thought. Talon was silent as well, listening to the sounds of the Library. It was closer to afternoon and, while unusual, the quiet in the Library was not unheard of at this hour. Beatrice ruffled her feathers, breaking the quiet for a brief moment before nestling down on her perch. "You may leave. Your assistance has been appreciated."

Talon glanced up, taken a slight aback, head titled to the side.

"Of course Grand General," the assassin responded. "For Noxus." He parted with the familiar words. On his heel, the assassin left the Library, his head clear now of all previous traces of alcohol but spinning with the strange questions the Grand General had asked. The inquiries seemed off putting. They triggered the instincts of the assassin and, away from the Grand General, Talon took the time to investigate the inward screams. His hand had worked back to his daggers, clutching the hilt of the weapon strapped at his side and the sense of unease he could not shake permeated the air.

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**This is an actual drink those those curious. I won't leave the recipe but just know it is a hell of a drink.

Please leave a comment, rate and review. :)

If you have any questions about setting, how the chapters are organized, or anything else please feel free to contact me via a review or through messaging on the website.

Captain Corgi Out! :)


	4. Follow the Wind

**Disclaimer:** I do not in any way, shape or form own League of Legends or any of its affiliates. This piece is purely a work of fiction and intended for entertainment purposes only.

 **Author's Note:** All that aside, if you're still here please enjoy the story. :) Do note that this is, in some ways, an AU. Even though the story does take place within the same universe and on the same continent of Runeterra the setting, some events and aspects of League history have been altered to suit the story's needs.

If someone who knows how to write summaries could help me out I would appreciate it. I am no longer fond of the summary that is currently posted and have not been able to come up with something better.

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 **"Follow the Wind"**

 **6th June, 30 CLE - Late Afternoon**

Lazing about the practice fields, the brilliant rays from overhead illuminating the curious scene in a soothing light, the wind warrior played soft melodies on his handcrafted flute, his head silent and flowing with the tune. He had a small audience in two little creatures- an eccentric yordle and her pixie companion. While the warrior have no outward indicator that he knew of these onlookers, his subtle smirk at the tiny hands giving an enthusiastic applause was enough of an indication. His abundant que wafting in the late afternoon breezes as he finished his makeshift melody and placed the instrument back into its case - said case being strapped by a simple strong around his waist.

"You're not going to play another?" Came a high pitched complaint from his watcher. There was also an accompanying chirp or whine from the pixie.

"Tomorrow maybe. Now it is time for practice," Yasuo responded, that smirk still tickling the edges of his lips as he made to move away from the sparse trees towards the practice fields. The sounds of a handful of other residents of the Institute out could be heard but the winds of the late afternoon drew them away from the gentle hills on which the wind warrior and the extravagant yordle had settled themselves.

"Then it's a promise!" Lulu announced, turning, bounding down the hills with her pixie floating close behind. The yordle and her trademark overly large hat half stumbled, half glided down the hills. "See you tomorrow then Mr. Samurai!" she called over her shoulder and the wind warrior allowed the deep chuckle that escaped. This was familiar - an exchange that they shared daily and Yasuo could admit he was find of the strange little creature as she seemed able to bring a small measure of relief to his overburdened soul.

"It the wind does not take me elsewhere," he responded yet knew the yordle did not hear the words. While yordle were not children, some of them tended to act as such and these tendencies made it difficult to elicit anything other than a parental reaction to what amounted to childish antics. Yasuo had his stern composition broken by Lulu's innocent actions.

He was half way the down the towards the fields when the winds broke a straight eerie feeling towards him. Yasuo turned his head, facing the horizon and saw a small flack racing in the direction of the Institute. Of the residents that he understood that wandered away from the compound on a daily basis, only two came to mind and Yasuo knew that he hadn't left the Institute that day yet. It left the Demacian Scout and her hurried, frazzled energy carried to him by the air indicated she had discovered an occurrence of importance. He turned his path in her oncoming direction.

The bird arrived first. Valor swooped down, wings fanned out and landed on a naked branch at the edge of the trees, those deep raptor eyes staring at the wind warrior with scrutiny. Yasuo ignored the creature, turning to face the scout as she closed the distance and came to a halting stop. Out of breath and sporting a nasty, jagged wound across her shoulders, Quinn gulped down air in her abused lungs.

"What has-" Yasuo began only have a combined screech from Valor and a raised from Quinn cut off his inquiry.

"Noxians. Over the ridge. Easily two thousand." She reported between breaths. Moving to stand straight, the scout winced as the motion pulled on the wound. It was not a deep or particularly serious injury but it was enough to make using her crossbow and general movements tug and sting unpleasantly. "They seem to have been camped there for some time. The offal and dead livestock indicated as much."

The wind warrior stared at the scout. What was he supposed to do with this information? His loathing for Noxian blood was not unknown but against a veritable army such reckless emotion only got you killed. Perhaps at a younger time he might've taken the chance to engage them all but with age he had come to the harsh realization that even one of his skill could not do battle with an army of such size.

"We alert the Summoners then." He stated, turning to head back towards the Institute. One hand rested on the hilt of his sword belaying the unease the news had wrought despite a calm exterior.

"Of course. Why didn't I think of that." Quinn's words had a distinct bite of sarcasm. Her breath was coming back and grabbed his shoulder. "That won't do any good. You know how I got hurt." It wasn't a question and she waited to finish once she was sure she had his full attention. "Trying to rescue the Summoners. The Noxians have them or, at least, some of them in that camp. They're held prisoner by void magic and that loathsome insect is what have me this wound."

"Void creatures have no honor so that is not a surprising revelation," Yasuo started and, once again, was interrupted. His eyes narrowed slightly at the annoyance but still he listened to the scout.

"What is surprising is how the Noxians gained control of even one Summoner. The Institute is not safe." Quinn finished, ignoring his silent ire and turned herself to the practice fields. A few champions were out at the later hour fine tuning their skills before matches began.

"So we alert those here and leave. Let Noxus have the place," Yasuo answered, waving an uncaring hand through the air. "It is only buildings and if those fools want an empty cavern with some useless barracks they can have them." The Institute had not served the purpose he had wished and an excuse to return to the ways of the wanderer. This was merely the spur to push him to find another method in which he could clear his name.

"We must defend it. The Institute maintains balance. Noxus cannot be given that power." The scout snapped back. Her anger was echoed by the high pitched screech from her avian companion. "Selfish prick." Quinn growled, arms crossed and even though it caused her to grimace in pain she stared down the warrior. "Do as you will. I'll find someone who'll actually do something." With that she turned, moving down the hills and towards the entrance with haste, her feet barely touching the ground as she seemed to fly across the fields and past a bewildered set of residents.

Yasuo watched. He glanced back over his shoulder at the horizon from where she had appeared but saw only grass and the mountain ridge. There was no sign of an invasive force or encroaching darkness but the wind felt ominous still. He listened to the message the breeze carried. The wind had not steered him wayward before but the lack of evidence before his eyes made the warrior pause. He closed his eyes and quieted his mind, seeking what the wind was trying to tell him.

Valor observed from his branch, head tilted and feathers ruffled in slight agitation.

The wind warrior ran through events in his head. There was a Noxian force over the ridge. They had been encamped there for some time according to the Scott's indications. Quinn had located and attempted to free an imprisoned Summoner. She had escaped... Amongst nearly two thousand armed, expert trained soldiers. The realization was abrupt. A moment later Yasuo breathed deeply and raced down the hills quick in Quinn's footsteps. Valor followed.

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Please leave a comment, rate and review. :)

Apologies for a shorter chapter. Originally this was much longer but I ended up cutting off the second bit because I was never happy with it. I decided to turn it into a chapter on its own and am in the process of re-writing it for the third time. If you have any questions about setting, how the chapters are organized, or anything else please feel free to contact me via a review or through messaging on the website.

Captain Corgi Out! :)


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